


Inside Spaces

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Hotel Sex, M/M, Rape & Wanking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A little dig into Henry's brain and his past as he's getting what he came to this hotel room for.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3
Collections: Anonymous, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Inside Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> A self-indulgent little OC ficlet, connected to others that can be found on peccadilloparlour@dreamwidth, but honestly this is just for me. Submitted to the Anonymous collection because I don't want it on my AO3 account, but do want to use it as a fill for Banned Together Bingo 2020.

Reuben was drunk. They were both drunk. But that meant that when that big hand came down on Henry's skinny arse, it was sometimes a light slap that barely stung, and at other times a bruising force. Henry grit his teeth as one of the latter sent his left leg twitching.

It wasn't even his fucking kink.

It was always hotel rooms with Reuben, ever since that first time they'd hooked up on that publishers' conference in Amsterdam. Henry had been drunk then too, and a little too bold, after a night of telling a bunch of corporate wankers (like himself) why _Eye on the Mirror_ was still relevant in the world of lifestyle bloggers and Instagram editions. He wasn't even sure himself. And Reuben had been there, fresh off rumours of another poetry collection coming out soon, and not seeming to even care that he was the only poet in Europe whose publications still made the news. He'd wanted some of that for himself. To have a taste of that nonchalance, to contract it like an STD.

They'd exchanged numbers afterwards, because while Henry hadn't intended for this to follow him to London, the sex had hurt just too good to let it go. The smell of freshly laundered sheets was part of it now. The tight-woven rough material of hotel seating. The clicking of the keycard in the door. The cramped shower afterwards, the liquid blue-green soap that foamed easily and left his skin sticky.

Henry grabbed the end of the sofa for some stability and swallowed, bracing for another blow. He was too tall to be splayed across anyone's lap, even someone like Reuben, who had a couple of inches on him, and this hotel suite sofa was hardly the ideal place. But when Reuben had sat down, slapped his knee and told Henry to bend over, his cock had made the decision for him.

Jesus, he was drunk. Not throw-up drunk, not yet. Maybe after he'd got bitten and railed to an inch of his senses. Reuben was good for that. Something in that height and that low rumble of voice made Henry want to lose himself entirely into being a fucktoy.

Not that it was all Reuben, or how his suits sat on him, that trail of dark hair up his belly, that bite-ready jugular. Some of it was just Henry. Something he needed sometimes. Some bloody punishment, just to take him out of his own head.

He'd take the humiliation out of this. That would do.

The motion of his body rocking on Reuben's knee brought him back almost twenty years to the motion of Frank's boat out on the North Sea, the cold metal of the cramped cabin's smooth inner wall, the stench of old cigarettes and leather. He remembered it at a remove, the way he'd felt it then, as if it was happening to someone else. Details of the scene had imprinted on the back of his skull. Frank's hand rough at the back of his head, his own limbs weak from the drug. His ripped jeans bundled at his knees, the half-undone belt digging into his thigh. Frank's dick slapping against his bare skin. Frank couldn't get it hard enough to stick it in, and Henry had wondered why that didn't sound funny. It should have been funny. Instead the spray of his cum over Henry's back had broken that remove just enough to make his stomach spit up acid into his mouth and his eyes burn.

Blurred lines. He'd expected to pay for that trip to Scotland with his mouth. He hadn't expected the fucking roofie.

Long time ago. And a whole different Henry, his anger still finding new cracks through which to flow into the world. To get back at his parents, at everything and everyone in his life that had told him he'd end up like this. Surrender or win. Even winning required surrender, of a different sort. Submitting himself to the game (of money, connections, power, class) and how it was played.

He was still chasing that blessed remove, he realized, when Reuben bent over and whispered something filthy in his ear about the pink his skin was turning. "Pull my hair," Henry rasped. He was almost there.

Reuben grabbed a handful and his scalp sang with the sting, his neck opening long. Wet teeth and whiskey-warm breath on his neck. Henry let a soft cry tear its way out of his throat. _Fuck, yes._ Reuben's fingers dug into his sore buttock.

Almost.

  
  



End file.
